


the city in my bones/the wires in my head

by blacksatinpointeshoes



Category: The Bastards Crew
Genre: (woo Prometheus), Bastards' Origins, Gen, Gunshots and thievery and pirates oh my, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The City, canon-typical bastards being bastards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-19 18:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19138243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacksatinpointeshoes/pseuds/blacksatinpointeshoes
Summary: In the City, you run and steal and fight, or you die. Pax Glass doesn't die anymore.





	the city in my bones/the wires in my head

In the City, you run and steal and fight, or you die. To someone who doesn’t yet understand death, that beautiful urgency is more thrill than threat. To Pax Glass, the danger made life worth living. 

To Primum — or the child known as Primum, for lack of a better word — those City instincts are worth more than gold. Coughing and spluttering and choking on smoke, their lungs failing, their heart stopping, Primum keeps running, because that’s what the City taught them. The City says that newborn,  _ re _ born children steal fire and run like hell, because the vultures can’t pick that delicate flesh if the child is already sprinting.

Primum doesn’t stop as the lab explodes behind them, doesn’t stop as the alarms cut through clouds of smoke, doesn’t stop as cries of alarm are jilted into harsh, grating coughs. The City teaches its children to survive, which is why Primum doesn’t notice the way that they’ve stopped breathing until they start up again, spewing smoke from behind blackened teeth and hacking fit to die. 

Having run to the docks, the starships bright and glorious, Primum looks up. And the Cassandra, in its radiance, is the sun. Divine. Futuristic. Unbelievable. 

_ Steal it,  _ say the new wires in Primum’s head, the ones that could commandeer the ship and incapacitate the crew without thinking.  _ Scrap it,  _ say the new wires in Primum’s head, the ones that have clocked the mark and model of the vessel and are already spinning a hologram of blueprints in front of their face.  _ Sell it,  _ say the new wires in Primum’s head, the ones that can see the upgrades made by a third-party worker and know that this ship is far from what it used to be.

_ Survive,  _ says the tiny bit of Pax Glass left in this brass-plated child.  _ Stowaway,  _ say the  City instincts programmed into their fingers.  _ Stop being an idiot and just standing here,  _ says every part of Primum in unison. 

Primum climbs into the ship the way that the City taught them, because the shadows of the Upper City feel like the underground of home. It’s safe. It’s comfortable. No one has ever noticed a quiet child, and they don’t start today. 

* * *

No one has ever noticed a quiet child, and that includes the crew of the Cassandra. Primum spends a few weeks watching them, seeing who eats the least and stealing from the rubbish bin, because that’s what the City taught them. They’re a good thief, and they could take more, but these people are dangerous. One slip could kill them.

But the City runs on bartering, and Primum knows that to take without giving is the worst crime. The new wires in their head slither around and whisper in Primum’s good ear, melting away their stone-stricken fear, and guide their clumsy hands until they become nimble.  _ This is risk,  _ say the wires, providing measurements and knowledge and calculations.  _ This is right,  _ says the City in return. 

* * *

Dani finds them, soot streaked and trembling, mechanical eye whirring with a firelike glow as Primum screws a bulb into place. They knew there was someone behind them - the City could feel it; the City said  _ ‘run,’  _ but the wires kept Primum rooted firmly into place.

‘Who the hell are you?’ the figure asks with a buzzing, copper voice. ‘And what are you doing here?’

The City wants to lie, but the wires don’t let Primum do that anymore. 

‘I don’t know,’ they say instead, raising their hands in surrender. ‘I-- are you going to kill me?’

The designs on the engineer’s skull seem to writhe and curl and scrunch with a ballet of thoughts. ‘I’ll need to take you to the captain,’ they say slowly. ‘You’re a stowaway. Do you know the consequences you’ll face for that?’

Primum can’t lie, so they shake their head instead. Their eyes are big and wide, their face gaunt, their mind racing. ‘I— I can help you,’ Primum hurries to offer, gesturing to the seamlessly fixed light in the ceiling. ‘I can— I’ll work as your assistant. I can do anything, really, I’m good with maths and—’

‘We’ll see what the captain says,’ the engineer interrupts. Their face softens for the slightest of moments and Primum hungers for the killing blow of empathy, that traitorous rush of emotional consequence — and there it is. ‘But you can stay. Promise.’

It takes every bone in Primum’s body not to start crying. 

‘I swear I’ll be useful,’ they say, and the engineer seems to believe them. 

* * *

The captain is scary. She’s the scariest person Primum has seen since the doctor, and that’s saying something. The captain tells the engineer - named Dani, Primum discovers - to leave the room, and Primum’s heart sinks. The captain - named Fara, Primum discovers - doesn’t like to be questioned, to be betrayed, and Dani gives Primum an apologetic look as they make their way towards the door. The captain, Primum discovers, doesn’t take well to outsiders.

‘So, pipsqueak,’ they say, which Primum figures is not the worst start for a bad-cop route, ‘what’s your game?’

Primum knows how these things work. The City in their bones knows how these things work. They say nothing. 

Fara takes out her pistol, nudges their chin upwards with it, says, ‘What’s your game?’ and Primum closes their eyes.

She sighs. ‘How long have you been here, kid?’

Cracking open one eye, they say, ‘Ever since you left the City.’ It’s been the better part of a year. Fara’s face darkens, but this was the best time to start cooperating. The City in Primum’s bones knows how these things work. Hasn’t everyone done this before?

‘Have you stolen from us?’ It’s a trick question and they both know it, but Primum still wishes they could lie. 

‘Y-yes.’

The pistol moves to Primum’s torso, right above their stomach. A bullet shot from here would tear out their liver, and both of them know it. ‘What’d you steal?’ 

Silence. The gun digs in deeper. ‘What the fuck did you steal?’ Fara growls, and Primum does their very best to look pathetic. It works. They are pathetic. 

‘Food from your rubbish bin,’ they confess hurriedly, rushing to clarify, ‘but that was it! I never - I didn’t touch anything else, I just fixed the place; I—’

Primum gags as the gun fires, bursting open their gut and covering their shirt in bile and acid and chyme. Then the liver regrows, and the rest of it, and Primum knows that this is their consequence for stealing that fire.

‘I—’ they gasp, heaving. ‘I—’

Fara shoots again, this time straight through the brain. Primum blacks out for a moment from the pain and bursts into tears when they come to as Fara turns her back, reholstering her pistol. ‘Stupid fucking pipsqueak can’t  _ die,’  _ she growls, striding into the hallway and calling, ‘Dani! We’ve got to talk.’

The ringing in Primum’s ears doesn’t stop for a long time.

* * *

Fara starts calling them ‘Pip.’ It’s fine. It’s better than Primum, anyway. Pip never wanted to be a word on a hospital gown.

Pip — or the child known as Pip, for lack of a better word — is thrown in the brig. That’s fine, because there’s food. Pip doesn’t know how they survived the gunshots but they’re thanking every god that they did, and the City in their bones says not to question it. The wires in their head tell Pip that they don’t have to worry about death anymore, but Pip doesn’t trust them. 

Death is always waiting. The City stinks of it. To someone who doesn’t yet understand death, that beautiful urgency is more thrill than threat. To Pax Glass, the danger made life worth living. Pip is waiting for the gunshots to catch up with them. 

Every night, they dream of Fara’s gun tearing at their liver, bursting it into a mess of blood and guts and gore, the bullet eating it away like a scavenging vulture, and every morning that liver regrows. These are the consequences for stealing fire. 

* * *

Pip redesigns the locks after they’re let out from the brig. The look on Fara’s face as they slide her the new blueprints is a flattened version of shock and annoyance and respect, but Pip doesn’t catch any of it. Their eyes are on her gun until Fara turns her back, at which point Pip skitters out of the office before she can shoot.

* * *

Pip spends a lot of time in corners. Corners are nice. The City in Pip’s bones likes corners and shadows and ceilings. The wires in Pip’s head like the mechanical winding and whirring patterns of the maze. Pip’s new brain agrees with their old one here, and most people — save Dani — can’t find their way around it. Just like home, the maze cradles Pip, keeps them safe.

It’s no surprise that Ikarus finds Pip in this labyrinth. They have a screwdriver between their teeth and a packet of crisps on the ground beside them (They’re not stolen. Pip would never steal from Fara again; they know what she does to thieves) and are humming a work song that their sister taught them. Ikarus’ footfalls make Pip tense, bring their free hand to one of their knives, and turn their head ever so slightly to gage the threat.

The threat is big and new and unfamiliar.  _ Kill him before he kills you,  _ says the City in Pip’s bones.  _ Keep your guard up and find his metal; you can make him better,  _ urge the wires in Pip’s head. The threat is sharp and wiry and barefoot. Pip turns out of the corner fully, just to make sure they have access to the exits they have memorised. 

The threat looks Pip in the eyes.  _ Run,  _ says the City.  _ Fight,  _ says the City.  _ Steal,  _ says the City.  _ Build,  _ say the wires. The threat, very slowly, starts crying, as if the glow from Pip’s mechanical eye is a sun he has looked at too directly. 

‘Do you want my crisps?’ Pip blurts, and shoves them towards the threat. 

He doesn’t. He wants something else. Pip can’t stop him from crying, though, and they feel like hugging would be a bad idea, so they put words to the tune they were humming. It’s an old song from the siege of Ilium, from when the soldiers found nine women and a baby alive in the wreckage. The woman, Andromache, was the wife of Hector, and she had a son. 

Ulysses ordered the potential savior of Ilium, the infant Astyanax, to be thrown from the city’s battlements. Andromache’s haunting lullaby followed the soldier who did the killing, floating on the wind as she tore off her ears, her nostrils, her cheeks. It followed him until she dug her fingers into her neck and ripped out her voice box, and then it followed him still. 

It’s a beautiful song, and Pip has always liked it. Their mother sang it to them all the time.The City in their bones knows it means survival.  

Pip realises belatedly that a lullaby about the war deaths of babies is probably making this situation worse. They press the packet of crisps into the hands of the weeping threat and run. 

* * *

(‘That bad, huh?’ Lise asks as Pip continues to recount their first impressions of the crew. It’s a bad night and Ikarus is away and Pip has spent hours staring out Lise’s window in their pyjamas, spying for the Partridge.

Pip’s smile is smitten as they shrug, staring at the way Lise’s dress flutters as they walk. ‘Don’t worry. First impressions usually aren’t right. I didn’t take it to heart.’

‘A good choice,’ Lise agrees, smiling in return. Pip is cocooned by a nest of pillows up to their ears, their brassy forehead sparkling in the low light of Lise’s cabin. It’s cute. Lise likes Pip, anyway; they’re a good kid.

‘Besides, there wasn’t anything to worry about in the end,’ Pip says, casting their gaze back towards the window.  _ Lie,  _ says the City, but Pip can’t do that anymore.  _ Work around it,  _ say the wires, and Pip can figure that out just fine. They’re crafty. Pip looks at Lise and thinks of Ikarus and says, ‘You guys are so nice.’

Lise’s smile is dazzling and beautiful and godly. Pip sighs with relief.)


End file.
